Sins Of Our Sons
by Danko Kaji
Summary: [Pre-FFX-2] Not all sons bear the sins of their fathers; sometimes, it can hold true for the other way around. [Baralai-centric. One-shot. Meta. Set one year after the Eternal Calm, during the events of Trema's desertion from New Yevon.]


_(A/N): Written for the dreamwidth community_ fandomweekly _, for the prompt "redemption"_

 _ **Summary:** Baralai survives a long night in the Bevelle Underground, only to come out desperate to entrust his father with a task of utmost secrecy. Considering their vast history of disagreements, he doubts that he would listen. Pre-FFX-2. Set during the six month after New Yevon's formation, one year after the Eternal Calm._

* * *

Baralai sprints to the docks, haggard and out of breath, clutching a knapsack of spheres close to his body. They clink together in short, harsh bursts, rattling his bones, the ache within him that refuses to subside. His mother told him that his father already left for Kilika, to contribute to the island's restoration, "but if you leave now, you might catch him in time"―

No, not this again.

Racing against time, to catch an elusive man― he tires of it.

He has to catch him now, before anyone can catch wind of this, most of all New Yevon.

 _'Father, please still be here―!'_

Crossing the long stretch of concrete to the piers, Baralai descends into the docks in wild search for his fleeting, broad-back figure, daring to take a breath. Which passenger ship did she mention he would take? The one enroute to the Moonflow, where he plans to transfer to Luca and then to Kilika? Or will he be traversing by foot, now that he can enjoy the journey without the threat of Sin prowling the land?

And then Baralai sees him by the tail end of his un-hoisted black changshan. He watches him climb the ramp, hefting a light pack on his shoulder, the casual, cocky motion unique to him and him alone, clashing with the rest of the heavily clothed, shuffling passengers. He could always pick his father out in the crowd; Kilikan born, dark skin and dark, unkempt hair and black, low-cut clothing that defied the frigid, cold weather of Bevelle and the equally frigid dress code of the conservative crowd. He never felt more afraid of confusing him for a spectre, a trick of the mind.

It has to be him. It can't be any other.

Baralai remembers himself and dashes forward, untangling his voice from the knots in his throat to shout his name.

"―Father! Father!"

That man always did possess ears of a fox, because he halts right away, looking in his direction.

Mori turns to descend the ramp so he can meet him on ground level, watching him keel over in front of him breathless, his face stoic.

"I― I f-finally found you…"

"What is it?"

"I need you… to… t-to carry a package for me…" Baralai wipes his mouth, attempting to stand straighter and compose himself, his right hand restless on the strap of his bag. "Can you deliver this for me, to Kilika Temple? Since you're already planning to go there…"

He glares, annoyed. "I'm not your messenger dog. Go do it yourself. I told you I don't want any part in that stupid organization of yours―."

"Please." Baralai holds that one word in the sea-salt breeze, his brown eyes weary, phlegmatic. "You are the only one I can trust."

Now Mori crosses his arms, suspicious. "...What's this about? You don't look well. When was the last time you've eaten?"

When had he stopped to eat, let alone sleep? Baralai lost track in the past twenty-four hours he volunteered to delve into the underground, not knowing if he would ever see the light again. He fought monsters, he lost comrades, he confronted the ghosts of Maesters and myths past, and he left the wicked Unsent who acted as the pioneering leader of New Yevon to his desired fate upon learning the truth of Trema's defection.

Baralai never once considered he would live to see his family again.

Everything happened so fast, he didn't have time to stop and think about anything.

"...I know you've never agreed with my decision to follow the Yevon teachings. You were disappointed when I joined the Bevellian army. I did everything you said I would come to regret later in life, and I didn't believe you. Now I realize, what a fool I am. To think New Yevon would be any better..."

He pauses, choking in his words. As a child, he never understood why his stubborn, mean-spirited father rejected everything he had been taught in school, always desperate to undo the conditioning that promised to build him inside the religious mold― until Yuna destroyed Sin, many years later. Because he saw the truth in the lies.

He expects his father to finally say, "I told you so" or "See, you should have listened to me" or even call him out for being an idiot who followed his spiritual fathers like a blind sheep. Instead, a pair of strong arms trap him in his forceful embrace, squeezing the wind out of him.

Baralai stiffened at first, startled by this rare impulse for affection, and then he relaxes, little by little. He cannot recall the last time his father ever held him. Five years ago, since his entry into the military academy? Or seven, the days leading up to him becoming a man of the cloth despite his tender age? Regardless, Baralai takes comfort in the fact he always took for granted, that his parents are still alive and well to scold him and hold him whenever he needs them the most.

' _Aah, my thoughts are running away from me... I came here for a reason.'_

"You don't have to tell me."

His voice rumbles so deep and low in his ears, carrying an undercurrent of strength Baralai always envied him for.

Now his father pulls back to look him in the eye, one of his calloused hands gripping his shoulder. "I'll take it. If that's going to give you peace of mind, I'll do it. Alright? I have to go now. The captain won't wait forever." Without waiting for him to concede, Mori wrenches the bag from his arm to sling it over his shoulder and without so much as a farewell turns to ascend the ramp.

His father always hated goodbyes, so Baralai contents himself with watching him go, wishing he could walk with the same kind of self-confidence his father carries.


End file.
